Cross Stitch
by feedthegrimmjows
Summary: Botan finds that his scars intrigue her to no end; no matter how gruesome, no matter how ragged and jarring, she believes them to be beautiful. YusukeBotan, oneshot


_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Yu Yu Hakusho._

_**Summary: Botan finds that his scars intrigue her to no end; no matter how gruesome, no matter how ragged and jarring, she believes them to be beautiful. YusukeBotan, oneshot**_

_Okay. I wrote this fic a while ago, and reading it over, it's kind of similar to another fic on my non-anime account. Anyway, this is my first fic on my new account. I wanted to start writing with one of my favorite anime of all time, and this was it. I've never written a YusukeBotan before and just thought I'd test the waters with this! I hope that y'all enjoy this fic and I would love to hear your opinions and everything on this. Would mean a lot! Thanks for reading!_

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**Cross Stitch**

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She places her fingers against his skin.

There's nothing overt in the action, just something that she likes to do. She likes to feel the smoothness of his skin, feel the faded ridges of scars as the pads of her fingers run over them. She's not sure if he likes it when she does this, but he never protests. He seems to know that it means something to her, and he lets her do it.

She silently thanks him for that.

The scars are familiar to her, ones that she has traced over and over again with slender, pale fingers. She has no particular order in which she does this. Being spontaneous has always been one of her favorite things about herself, why ruin that now?

She knows each scar like she knows her own. However, hers are far less numerous, both in both internal and external aspects.

The first scar she finds. Sensui. Stabbing and cutting and guns and fire. Multiple personalities and Chapter Black and wondering _could that happen to him?_

Another scar. Toguro. A fight for revenge and redemption and to prove himself. To avenge his fallen mentor.

Yet another. Hiei. A sparring match that had gotten too close, a sword nicked him in the wrong place, just along his forearm. He didn't stop. Continued fighting. Jumping closer and closer and not caring that his blood stained the dirt below him. He laughed during that fight, and she could have sworn that she saw Hiei chuckling as well.

And another. Kurama. A rose whip gone awry. The little prickles of scars decorate the side of his forearm, some dragging, others looking kind of like stars. The kitsune had fervently apologized and had gotten bandages as quickly as he could, murmuring even more as he went. She remembers never having seen Kurama look so nervous.

This scar, just along the jaw line, from when he leapt in front of a demon to protect her. She believes that one scares her the most. The fact that he cares so much for her that he is willing to fight, to protect, to kill and kill and kill for her.

She takes his hands, looks at the calluses that line his fingers and the ridges of his lifelines. She finds a particularly clean-cut scar, one that goes across the top half of his hand, just underneath the base of his fingers.

They were planting violets, she remembers, in small little pots to go on the porch. Her trowel slipped and knocked against his hand, slicing open flesh and drawing blood. She was frantic, comically so, and went inside to fetch a bandage. She could hear him cursing outside, a thousand words that she had never even thought to string together to for obscenities.

She bandaged him up, though, and apologized and apologized. Her cheeks were flushed, she could feel, and she was desperate to help. He, being the gruff individual that he was, waved her off with the wounded hand, flicking blood on the ground.

She _made_ him sit down after that. He cursed and protested all the way, but somehow he relented. She was just glad he relinquished control enough to let her help. He rarely does that with anyone else.

She finds one particularly new scar that grazes his cheekbone. Her fingers run over that one, memorizing the new feature as well as she can. She doesn't worry about that too much. She'll have plenty of time to do that.

He smiles at her. "Geez, Botan. Handsy, much?

His words are husky, though. Playful and deep sounding. The tone of them causes the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

"Shut up," she replies, dropping her hands.

"I'm starting to think you have a thing for scars."

She blushes and replies, barely audible, "Only yours." It's amazing how she can still be shy around him, after all this time.

He grins toothily.

There's nothing much to be said. He spreads his arms and she falls into them. This is a thing of ritual, almost. His arms open and she naturally falls into them. So familiar and safe and sound and just _them_.

She presses her fingers to the scars on his chest, dangerously close to his heart. So many times he has almost been taken from her…so many near-misses and close calls that she cannot keep track. He seems to know what she's thinking, and he clasps his hand over hers, strong and firm and warm.

"I'm here," he reassures. "Right here."

"I know," she replies softly.

When he kisses the crown of her forehead, she finds herself thinking of the moment when he won't be, and holds him that much tighter.

Because, frankly, that can _never _happen. It won't.

Botan won't allow it.

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_**End.**_


End file.
